You thought I was that type:
That you could forget me,
And that I'd plead and weep
And throw myself under the hooves of a bay mare,

Or that I'd ask the sorcerers
For some magic potion made from roots and send you a terrible gift:
My precious perfumed handkerchief.

**** you! I will not grant your cursed soul
Vicarious tears or a single glance.

And I swear to you by the garden of the angels,
I swear by the miracle-working icon,
And by the fire and smoke of our nights:
I will never come back to you.

Whatever you do,
Don't fall in love
With loveless boys.

The boys who stay awake
Until 4 am taking long drags
On cigarettes and blowing
The smoke into the wind.

The boys who down bottles
Of whiskey at a time and
Wipe their mouths with their
Sleeves, eyeing you from
Across the room as they do.

The boys who frequent
Alleyways and rooftops
And libraries because
They are anything but
Ordinary.

The boys who watch you
Fall in love with them and
Don't feel a **** thing
For you as you do.

Welcome.
This is all we have for you.
Live now.
Nothing is waiting.
There is no reward for living with restraint.

                    So don’t.

                                        Do what you love.

                                               ­                                                                 ­        Play jazz.
                                                        ­                        Change the world.
                                                      ­                                                                 ­ Fall in love.
                                                        ­                                                                F­all out of love.
                                                        ­                        Change the world again.
                                                      ­                                                                 ­ Dream.
                                                     ­                                               Forget where you were going,
                                                        ­                                                                R­emember.
                                                     ­                                               Change your mind.
                                                        ­                                            Go anywhere else.
                                                        ­    Make someone smile.

                                        Drive nowhere.

                                        Do it fast.

Here’s something.
When a man and a woman love each other very much...
That’s an archaism.
Everybody ***** everybody nowadays.
Girls, boys, girls.
Am I getting left behind because I’m anachronistic?
I just want it to mean something, you know?
Not societal pressure.
Not the standard physical progression of a high school relationship.

I just want a friend, and to build a closer connection.
I want to hold someone and feel the heat of their body, and know that they’re feeling mine.
I want to close my eyes and trust that their eyes are also.

I have this idea (dream?) of *** being transcendent, not terrestrial.
I want to love, and to feel...not to ****.
Am I making sense?
Am I the only person in the world who thinks like this? Probably not.
But I’ve got a sinking feeling that I’ll never find that other person.

I'd want someone, a friend, a best friend, who'd understand the connection I want to make.
They’d understand the closeness and transcendentalism, understand that it isn’t about societal rules,
or regulations,
or ideals.

I want making love to be about making love, not pretenses and cliches and other Earthy concerns.
Maybe I’m an idealist.

I don’t care.

This is what I want.

There are a lot misconceptions
When it comes to ***
And connecting ourselves in intimate
And healing ways
Enjoying and reveling in the pleasure
Being able to be in the moment
Truly awake and feeling ourselves
Feeling our bodies
And connecting with each other
*** has the ability to be a very powerful thing
It can transform two hearts
It can be a very powerful and uplifting thing
But unfortunately we have repressed ourselves
Even though we have a hyper sexualized society
We still repress ourselves in a lot of ways
We have commodified ourselves
And our bodies
And commodified *** as well
We need to be able to open ourselves up
To the possibility that there might be better
More whole ways to connect
Connecting with ourselves fully
Connecting with others fully
In healing and intimate ways
Because the way things are
It's Only propagate loathing of yourself
Loathing of your body
Even loathing of the feminine
And anything sensual
We need to break free of this
Because if we don't
We will continue to have people
That are lost and disconnected
From themselves
You will continue to have ****
And you will continue to propagate
The separation between the masculine and feminine
Not allowing ourselves to connect
In healing and sensual ways

The dim morning light
Shone on her body
He admired her perfection

Her legs were thrown carelessly
Above the covers
They seemed to never end

Her hair spread about
Forming a halo of silk
Around her head

Her body leaned toward him
And seemed to sigh
In time with his bliss

Her fingers, long and thin
Were as beautiful as hands could be
And they were his

Her eyes, closed to the world
Were just as beautiful
As the soul they contained

Her arms reached to him
With her bare wrists showing
And on one was tattooed "remember"


He would never forget.